Bleed Like Me
by yayfornonsense
Summary: He keeps waiting for it to get better.  But every morning when he wakes up, he still feels like he's been punched in the gut a million times.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so now that the craziness of Nanowrimo is over, I've gotten back to my fanfictions. Yay! So. This is going to be made up of ten (really short) chapters in a story told backwards. Really, really dark; there's a character death, so beware. Other than that... reviews are really appreciated. Rated for language.

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_People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad._

_- Marcel Proust_

X.

In retrospect, he knows he should have seen this coming.

It's all there, when he looks back; a million signs, puzzle pieces that fit together to form one horrific picture. From the way she didn't call him that morning right down to the twitch of the suspect's index finger, he should have seen it _all_, but he didn't. And he hates it, he _hates _it, because that's what he _does_. That's what his life is based on. Reading the puzzle pieces and creating the picture that no one else can see. Only this time he screwed up.

And this time, it really fucking mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys!

1) Because I forgot before: I don't own Lie To Me. Just in case you thought maybe I did.

2) I'm hoping to get these up in pretty quick succession but... meh, we'll see.

3) Thank you to aoutis and beingKitKat for your reviews.

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IX.

He goes to work only because he _needs _to punish himself. It's almost too convenient, his own personal hell, just ten minutes from his house, and every once in a while he thinks he should be working harder to destroy himself. She deserves better than this. But then he sees them (_all _of them, from the secretary to the janitor) staring (do they think he doesn't know?) and for a moment he tries to see himself the way they do. Is he as broken as they seem to think? Probably. Do they know what really goes on inside his head everyday? He doubts it. Ria tried to talk to him once, afterwards. He doesn't remember what she said, but he thinks his response might have been something along the lines of _fuck the hell off_.

Mostly they leave him alone, and he sits in his office and tries to drink his way to oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello again! Not much to say about this... thank you to scootsaw for reviewing. Enjoy! (or not) :)

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VIII.

One day Emily drags him out of bed (literally; she comes in to his room at seven am with a bull horn) and takes him to the park. They don't do much; mostly they walk (in silence) and sit (in louder silence). She sees a dog with its owner, prancing around in the grass, destroying a Frisbee, and she mentions getting one. A dog. Just for the two of us, she says. (Meaning, Mom would bite my head off if I brought a dog home) He agrees (because what the _hell _does it matter?) but Em isn't satisfied, because she didn't get the response she wanted. She lets it drop and they go home. When she asks him to go again, he does, because he doesn't have the energy to tell her it's only making him feel worse.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again! Just a couple things:

1) If you haven't noticed yet, I am madly in love with parentheses -"()"- sorry for my excessive use of them!

2) Thank you to LieToMeAddict and monochromewords for reviewing.

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VII.

As he is brushing his teeth one night, he realizes that he never knew what her favorite color was. The familiar lump forms in his throat and he rinses his mouth as the tears start to come. Then he curls up on his bed and wonders how well he ever_ truly_ knew her. Did she believe in some higher power, some god? They had never talked about it. What was her worst fear? She wouldn't have told him. Did she have a dog when she was little? He had never asked.

They had known each other so well; and yet sometimes (even in death) she still feels like a perfect stranger.

He makes a list in his head of all the things he never got to say. It burns and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but at least it's feeling something.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to gidget89 for reviewing. By the way, I've been forgetting to mention this, but any and or all reviews are really appreciated, so to all you lurkers out there (yeah, I see you) please, please review!

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VI.

He keeps waiting for it to get better. (It's supposed to, isn't it? Five stages of grief and all that shit. She would've known.) But every morning when he wakes up he still feels like he's been punched in the gut a million times. Every time he turns around he expects to see her, beaming at him, eyes as blue as the summer sky. He still hears her before he falls asleep at night. He still picks up the phone and dials her number every day. He still smells her in the hallways. He still can't walk into her office. He can't get close enough to the photos of her, scattered throughout his house, to put them away, so he skirts around his living room like it's a mine field. He sees her face, her walk, her smile in random strangers on the street. He makes excuses to Zoe on his weekends, because being with Emily hurts too much, like life is still normal. Like life is still _life_.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to monochromewords, gidget89, Ardelier and LieToMeAddict for reviewing. As always, reviews make my day... that was a hint, in case you didn't get it.

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V.

He thinks that, someday, she'll just become a smudge on his memory. He'll forget the way her voice sounded when she was happy. He'll forget the exact shade of blue her eyes became when it rained. He'll forget where the freckles were on her left shoulder, the angle her eyebrow slid to when she suspected something. It scares him. He's already lost her once. He can't lose her again.

'Friends are temporary," his mother had once said. 'You hardly get to know them before they are gone. Then you don't even remember their name.'

But she was more than that, wasn't she? More than just a friend. Because she had, in her own unique way, found a place in his life. They had bled together and blended (sometimes about as well as oil and water) into a whole new _idea _of living. She was more than a friend; she was family.

So he won't forget her name.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to gidget89 for reviewing. (I hope you feel better!) Reviews are appreciated. A lot.

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IV.

It was Chambers, Zoe says, and her voice is so, so soft, he hasn't heard her talk this gently in years (has he ever heard her talk this gently?) They're sitting in a church courtyard, dressed in black, and somewhere, beyond the walls that surround him, she's lying in a wooden box, so still and cold, dressed up too much, her face too fake (they should have put her in that blue dress, she always looked so pretty in that)… Chambers, the bastard, murderous psychopath they'd been hunting for three weeks. He hears snippets, bits of what Zoe is saying to him (would he even be able to stand it if he heard it all?) and she says something about a gun, and aiming for him, and _her _getting in the way. Then a bell starts to gong steadily, like a heartbeat, and they leave the windy courtyard as the sun sets.


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, I'm getting this up a lot more quickly than I thought I would. (It might have something to do with the fact that I love my amazing reviewers) and speaking of... Thank you to monochromewords, LieToMeAddict, gidget89, Fearsome Foursome, Ardelier and for reviewing. Keep 'em coming, guys.

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III.

It happened too quickly. That's all he remembers. One minute he was there, and she was there, and they were arguing about something so _stupid_, (because that's what they _did_, arguing was like breathing to them, so why does it bother him so much now?) and then she was lying on the floor, and all that he could see, all that mattered, was the dark, dark pool seeping out from beneath her. He holds her head and listens to the pounding of their hearts, beating in sync.

They took her away, and her hands were too cold, and then he was laying on his bathroom floor, curled in a ball, rocking, rocking, sobbing and cursing while Emily held his hand, her silent tears falling on his neck like rain.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to Dr. Callian and Ardelier for reviewing. There's only one more chapter and an epilogue after this guys! Please review. :)

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II.

"All I'm trying to do, Gill, is keep us afloat," he says, following her down the hallway. The sharp _tack tack _of her heels stops suddenly as she turns to face him.

"And I appreciate that, Cal, but I would _also _appreciate you _telling _me before you take another case! We're overloaded as it is," she replies, energy flowing off of her like a wave.

He turns around to look at the sign on the wall, which they are standing in front of.

"Whose company is this, anyway?" He asks her. She makes a noise of frustration in the back of her throat and whirls around to face Anna's desk. Grabbing a manila folder from the young secretary, she starts to go, only to be stopped by his hand on her wrist.

"Don't leave angry, darling," He says, his voice softer now. "Friends?"

She raises her eyebrow at him and takes a deep breath. Then time stops and he only has a second to comprehend the look of fear that flashes across her face before some great force has slammed him to the ground. His face meets the hard, cold floor and his palms sting from the impact. He's too dazed to understand what is happening, why the on-site police officers are suddenly shouting, or why Anna is suddenly screaming, or why Gillian Foster is sprawled across his chest protectively, her breathing shallow, her eyes wide as she looks up into his face.

"Cal…"

Her voice is too raspy, too low, to un-Gillian like, so he sits up and pulls her up with him. She moans softly and buckles over, hugging herself.

"Cal," she repeats, and the tone is more desperate now, more pleading.

"Gill," He whispers, watching her sink to the ground. His senses aren't working properly; he can't register what he's seeing (Or maybe he just doesn't want to). And Gillian's white blouse is growing darker, going from red to black as her hand clutches her side. And he stands there like a helpless idiot, watching the life drain out of his best friend.


	10. Chapter 10

I apologize for the wait; Christmas caught up with me and I haven't had any time or willpower to upload anything. Only the epilogue after this. Thank you to Dr. Callian, Kathinka and princesspooka for reviewing. Reviews are really, really loved. Really.

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I.

They sit one day, after a tough case, on the roof. Shoulder to shoulder, the silence comfortable. Gillian examines the ice in her glass while he rubs the knots out of her back.

"Well, one thing's for certain, love," he says after a while, leaning back, placing his palms flat against the concrete.

"What's that?" She asks, glancing at him as she downs the rest of her drink.

"You'll always be the better person." He brushes a hair out of her face and looks into her eyes searchingly.

"Better than who? Better than you?" She laughs, like the idea never occurred to her. "Better or worse isn't the question, Cal," she says, staring out at the setting sun. "I try to be a good person, but so do you in your own way. Look at all the people you help. What matters is that we both let each other be who we're supposed to be. We don't try to change each other consciously, but subconsciously we _do _make each other better."

"Says the psychologist."

"Haha. All I'm saying is, if I'm the better person, it's only because that's who you're letting me be."

She turns back to him. The sun is behind her, setting her silhouette on fire. Her eyes light up and they look so _blue _and he is _this close_ to breaking the line, to saying what he has wanted to say for so damn long…

The words are in his throat when she stands, brushing off her pants and picking up her glass. "I've got to get going," she says.

The moment broken, he nods and clears his throat. (It seems their whole life is built on broken moments) "Right, yeah."

She brushes the top of his head lightly with her lips. His eyes slide shut at her touch. "See you tomorrow."

He doesn't open his eyes for while, and when he does she is gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Well, I can't believe this is over! Thank you to every single person who has read (and a special thank you to my wonderful reviewers). I've got some more stuff in the pipeline, so hopefully you guys will be hearing from me again soon. Until then, have a Happy New Year! Please leave one last review guys! I'd really appreciate it. (And thank you to monochromewords for reviewing the previous chapter)

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Epilogue

It hits him one day, swift and sure and piercing, (like a bullet in his chest, though it still hurts to make _that_ comparison) that she isn't coming back. No matter how long he waits, no matter how many times he punishes himself, blames himself, no matter how many times he yells at the sky until his throat is raw… she isn't coming back. He expects this new realization to break him all over again; expects to feel the wound crack open and bleed anew, but it doesn't. And somehow, inexplicably, that gives him the courage to remember her.

It's a rainy Thursday in March when he goes into her office. It occurs to him, as he stands in the doorway, that it's been over a year since this door has been opened. A year since life has breathed inside this room. He swallows and flicks the light on, going two paces forward.

It smells of mold and mildew and dampness, but underneath that smell is something else. Something more like _her_. It comforts him. Her coat is still thrown over the back of the couch, right where she laid it the last time… his heart is in his throat, but he keeps going. Her books are dusty (he should get Emily to come in and dust them off sometime) and stacked neatly on the shelves. Her desk is predictably neat, her computer shut down. A post-it note has a date and phone number scribbled on it in her elegant handwriting.

He sits down in the chair behind her desk and feels his eyes prick painfully. She wasn't much for keeping her workspace cluttered with pictures, but there is one photo on the desk that he picks up. It is a picture of the two of them with Emily, two (no, three? He hates that he can't remember) summers ago at the zoo. They are eating ice cream, (his and Emily's with one scoop, hers with two) silly, happy grins plastered on their faces. They had been rebellious that day, he remembers, and taken Emily to the zoo (on a Monday afternoon, when there were piles of paperwork to do). And Emily had been a bundle of excited energy. And they had fed the giraffes, and his giraffe had slobbered all over his brand new shirt. And she and Emily had laughed and laughed while he pulled faces… _Gillian…_

And then, before he realizes it, he's laughing. He shocks himself, at first, and feels like he's violating some sort of shrine. But then he looks down at the picture again, and he smiles. Gillian had loved to laugh. Gillian had loved to laugh with _him_.

So he sits in her office and laughs until he cries, while the rain pounds wildly against the window.

It's not perfect, but it's something.


End file.
